Sam's Apocalypse
by pacejunkie
Summary: After the memorial, the events of the day finally sink in for Sam. Spoilers up to 1x18 Cancun.


**Title:** Sam's Apocalypse

**Fandom:** Reaper

**Rating:** PG/K+

**Summary:** After the memorial, the events of the day finally sink in for Sam. Spoilers up to 1x18 Cancun.

**Word Count: **926

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Reaper but if I did it would be returning in the fall.

**A/N:** This is for all of those who felt Sam seemed a little too happy with his friends that night.

* * *

The burning straw man lit up the night sky and Sam couldn't help but smile. It was spectacular, his friends were cheering and he felt oddly high, like he was outside himself looking down on the three of them. They were his best friends, and they had done this for him -- the only thing they could think of doing in remembrance of Sam's dead father.

His dead father.

Sam swallowed and let his mind go blank again, hugging Ben one more time so his friend wouldn't notice the flicker of emotion. Not now, later. He wouldn't burden his friends, they were already putting their lives at risk willingly just by standing by him, and he didn't need to make their loads any heavier. It wasn't their cross to bear. They were here for him in just the way he needed, and that was all he wanted right now.

His mother had acted strangely when he had told her the news but he would think about that later too. People grieve in different ways and she was clearly in shock, like him. Sam knew exactly what shock felt like. It was like your nerve endings had been severed and nothing penetrated your skin, or your brain. It was like being wrapped in thick flannel that was wet and slightly cold. If this was what his mother was feeling, what Sam felt, then he really couldn't judge her. There would be time to talk but for now, they both just needed time.

The day had been too much to begin with. The Devil nearly broke his fingers, torturing him for information, then the soul strung him up by an invisible noose, and then his father…

Sam stopped and started again. The lies. There were so many lies today told by so many people that he trusted. It was no wonder he felt numb. It would take him days just to sort it all out, it was all so much to process, and still he was no closer to the truth.

What they were saying about him, Tony and the demons, it couldn't be true, could it? The Devil was _not_ his father. He only told Sock and Ben that it was likely for want of a better explanation. Right now, the possibility was all there was, but there was no one to tell him the truth. The only people left he could trust were his friends, but they didn't have the answers he sought.

The effigy was going out now, the last rocket fired off with an impotent crack and a sizzle, the statue reduced to a pile of charred remains. After all of the events of the day, the fire and brimstone, now there was nothing. The embers were dying, the dust was settling.

Sam, Sock and Ben ceased their cheering, their throats raw, watching the last of the fire as the silence and the darkness of the night set in. All was suddenly quiet. No more memorials, no more forgetting, and Sam suddenly realized how cold it was outside. He shivered, and when he did it all let go.

He couldn't stop shaking, and his stomach felt tight. His father, John Oliver, was dead. He may not even have been his father but in every way that mattered, he was. Sam was mourning the loss of his father no matter what the truth was. He pulled his arms around him and stepped back into the shadows, away from the glow of the Work Bench security lights.

"Sam?" said Sock, turning around.

Sam shook his head. He was freezing now, really damn cold. Why couldn't his friends feel it, why weren't they as uncomfortable as he was in the night air?

"Sam, are you all right?" asked Ben, coming closer.

Sam backed up one more time. "I'm okay," he muttered. "It's just cold."

Sock and Ben exchanged a look and then they each took Sam by the arm. Sam walked with them, head down, squeezing his eyes shut until his head began to hurt.

"Let's just go home, bro," said Sock. "I'll make you some cocoa. Ben, do you know how to make cocoa?"

"No, I'm okay," Sam repeated, "I think I just need to sleep."

"Good idea," said Ben, "You can deal with it all tomorrow."

Sam laughed. He had been nearly buried alive, saved by an angel, rescued by a demon, the Devil may be his father. On top of all that tomorrow would be the first day he would have to start looking over his shoulder for the rest of his life. Every demon on earth wanted him dead. He would need more than a day to deal with all that. He would need eternity, and he didn't have it.

As Sock started up the car, Sam recalled one of the last things his father had said to him. He said that if he told Sam the truth, everything would come crashing down. But everything _has_ come crashing down, and still Sam was no closer to the truth, so what had he gained? Was his father's death for nothing?

Sam leaned back against the head rest in the back seat and closed his eyes. Ben cranked up the heat in the car but it had little effect. He wanted to sleep for days, weeks, he wanted to be sedated, induced into a comatose state, but tomorrow was coming. It may have seemed like the apocalypse, but life went on, and he would have to face a new dawn in a whole new way.


End file.
